The War of Gods and Men

Tian Hao stood alone on the highest balcony of the Jade Spire, the wind tugging at his crimson robes like restless spirits. Below him, the city burned. Plumes of black smoke curled into the twilight sky, mixing with the fading hues of dusk like incense offered to angry gods. Sirens wailed in the distance—perhaps warning, mourning. It didn’t matter. Not to him.

From this height, the chaos looked almost… divine.

The empire he had built—through blood, betrayal, and brilliance—was devouring itself. Loyalists clashed with defectors in the alleyways. Former allies turned their guns on one another. Entire districts had gone dark, overrun by looters, rebels, and ghosts of the forgotten. The Nine Dragons were no longer a syndicate. They were an infection burning through the veins of a dying body.

And yet, Tian Hao smiled.

He did not see a collapse. He saw transformation.

“The flames are not destruction,” he whispered to the void. “They are purification.”